Indulgences
by LadyRhiyana
Summary: Oneshots, drabbles and stories about Rin, and Sesshoumaru, and their unusual relationship. New: Sesshoumaru dreams impossible dreams.
1. Flesh and Spirit

**A/N – **Sesshoumaru did not think of Rin as human.

**Disclaimer** – Inuyasha belongs to Takahashi-sensei. I'm just borrowing one of her more intriguing relationships.

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**Flesh and Spirit**

* * *

"…_now and forever remember: you are flesh as well as wishes, body as well as spirit, and when you let one fly without the other, then look to suffer for it."_

_C. J. Cherryh, 'Fortress in the Eye of Time'. _

* * *

Sesshoumaru did not think of Rin as human.

To him, humans were sheep; herd animals that stuck together for mutual protection and gratification, not venturing any farther beyond their safe, predictable boundaries than they absolutely had to. Anything they could not explain was enshrouded in magic, taboo and superstition, and anything different was feared, despised, or destroyed. They lived in squalor and backbreaking poverty, never lifting their heads above the mud and dirt of their fields, living all of their firefly lives concerned only with preserving their pathetically weak bodies, eating, and procreating.

There was no room for anything else. There was no room for _dreams. _

But Rin had stumbled – orphaned, despised, abandoned by her fellow humans – into a dream in her sixth year, and had welcomed it, embraced it eagerly. She followed him out of choice, because she willed it –

_Do what you want, Rin_

And in following him, she entered a world of dreams and nightmares alike. For every mindless, ravenous youkai who tried to devour her, there was a field of glorious flowers and a sky full of jewel-bright stars. For every mid-level youkai who despised her because she was human, there was a flight on Ah-Un's back, and a freezing winter's night curled up next to Sesshoumaru's own, much greater warmth.

For every danger that would have sent grown men screaming in fear, there was the sure certainty that she would be safe, that he would protect her. Under his protection, she grew farther and farther away from the bruised, frightened girl she had once been. She knew no fear, and no sense of human limitations – her spirit threw itself gleefully into her new world trusting that he would always support her.

Even Izayoi had doubted and feared. Sesshoumaru knew that his father's woman had been older than Rin, and less – or perhaps more – naïve. She had known exactly what Inutaisho had been, and of the consequences of choosing him over the security of her human suitor and family. Rin, however, had no loving family, and no close ties to humans, nothing to anchor her to the 'real' world except fear, which she discarded as useless after her death and revival.

No, Rin's spirit was more akin to his than to any of the fearful, shrinking, earthbound humans who might seek to reclaim her. They would draw her back into the world of flesh, hedge her about with fears, cautions, restrictions, and slowly strangle her. Sesshoumaru was largely indifferent to human suffering. They were nothing to him, a shifting, faceless horde – but he did not think of Rin as human. She was a wild spirit in a human body. Her upbringing had shattered the usual human conditioning, and set her free to follow him.

_Rin wants to stay with her Sesshoumaru-sama forever!_

And for the preservation of that spirit, so inadequately housed in such fragile flesh, he would allow it.

* * *


	2. Memories of Yesterday

**A/N – **One day she would die, but he would live forever. Her only immortality would be through him...

I don't know why, but when I read the phrase below it gave me a serious thrill. Given the context, it shouldn't have, but an irresistible plot bunny was born. Generally I'm not an advocate of a romantic/sexual relationship btw Sesshoumaru and Rin, but this grabbed me by the throat.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Inuyasha, or Sesshoumaru, or Rin. I'm just borrowing them.

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…_when he thought of Asfiad, he thought of…a dark-eyed woman, as if it were yesterday…_

_C. J Cherryh, 'Fortress of Owls'._

**

* * *

**

**Memories of Yesterday **

* * *

When she was fourteen years old, she fell into a ravine and shattered her leg. Tenseiga, powerful as it was, could not heal mere physical injury; the bone healed crookedly, and she would limp painfully forever more.

He built a cottage for her, in a secluded, forgotten valley, stamped his mark on it and the surrounding lands, and left her there on her own, secure in the knowledge that no foe, youkai or human, would dare harm her. He had thought, perhaps, that she would prefer a human village, but Rin was shy and wary of other humans – and other humans, she said, would be wary and fearful of her.

For eight years, since she had been a small child, she had been his, had lived under his protection. He had provided her with food, clothing and the shelter of his warmth, and, youkai that he was – not human, never human, despite his appearance – he had noted with possessive satisfaction the layer of his scent she had acquired, almost disguising the mortal, human reek.

She smelled like him, like inuyoukai. She had travelled with him for so long that she was no longer fully human in any way other than superficial physicality; she had no concept of human standards of morality or behaviour, and none of the superstitious human fear of death and the unknown.

They would hate and fear her, she said, because she was different, and shun her because she had once belonged to a youkai.

_Sesshoumaru-sama, _she had said, her old-young eyes meeting his fleetingly, but not long enough to challenge him, _Rin knows she can no longer travel with you. _She had moved closer, ancient in her awakening instincts. _But she still wants to stay with you forever..._

She was human.

But she was _his, _and she had learned very well how to serve and please him. In her mind, she had a right to his protection, and thought it only fitting that this should be the natural progression of their relationship.

If she were lucky, she would live some three-score years. She was of sturdy, earthy peasant stock, and such folk knew no illusions or inhibitions; she had been exposed to sex and death from an early age and knew them to be natural aspects of life. Sesshoumaru had far more qualms, if even less restraint: youkai were creatures of habit, and it was not so long ago that she had been a whelp, a pup under his care.

He left her there alone and went back on his wanderings, endlessly roaming his borders and patrolling his lands. He killed when it suited him, brutally and emphatically, to leave an unmistakable message; he walked untouched, unmoved, unchanging through the land, a white, terrible ghost who had never known mercy, never known compassion, and had never cared for a little girl.

* * *

Then, one day, he returned to the hidden valley, to the small cottage in the woods, and found Rin drawing water from the well. She straightened when she saw him, moving with some pain in the cold morning air, and he saw that her eyes were dark, and ancient, and knowing.

"Sesshoumaru-sama," she said, her voice no longer childish. "You have returned." She smiled, and for a moment, she was bright, innocent Rin again. "I knew you would."

Irresistibly, driven by some force he could not describe, he drew closer, close enough to smell her, to check her scent and make sure that she still smelled like him, even after an absence of more than a year. Her hair was longer, now that she was staying in one place, and thick and black and wiry, and her skin was warm and flushed, the blood pumping strongly just below the surface. She smelled of human sweat, and wood smoke, and of the earth and forest, and…yes, there it was. The musky, furry scent that was his and his alone, distinctive and unmistakable, and more indicative of his ownership than any number of marks or fine kimonos.

She tipped her face up, exposing her throat, accepting his dominance unquestioning. He stared down at her, his face blank, his golden eyes unreadable. "Rin," he asked, "is this what you want?"

Her eyes met his, steadily. "Yes." There was no doubt in her, no calculation – this was no ploy to bind him tighter to her, no search for advancement or power. To Rin, this was natural; she was his, and so consequently he was hers; she would serve him and please him and he would protect her against all harm.

He nodded, picked up the bucket of water for her, and carried it into the tiny cottage. The walls were rough-hewn wood, the gaps stuffed with thick green moss, and the roof thatched with twigs, but there was a small tatami and there were expensive bronze braziers scattered round, and the bed was piled with thick, luxurious wolf furs that he himself had hunted.

When he tumbled her down onto them, she reached out to him, her eyes old and knowing, bright and innocent all at once.

In the morning he woke, saturated in her scent and her touch and her presence, his fine white hair tangled with hers; she had made a point of mixing them, fascinated by their combined glow in the firelight, by the intimate curtain it made, surrounding them, binding them together. His single hand was draped over her protectively, the razor-sharp claws instinctively gentle on her skin, that fragile, utterly defenseless human skin.

He untangled himself, and left before she woke.

* * *

Some time later, he returned, finding nothing changed. She still watched him with her young-old eyes, and she went willingly with him to the bed. He watched her as she slept, silently committing her to memory, fixing this moment in his mind – his youkai mind, with its capacity for sensual memory, for forever preserving touch-sight-smell-taste-sound – against the inevitable march of time.

He was a taiyoukai. His life would stretch on forever, if nothing interfered with the normal course of things. He knew, rationally, that she would grow up, grow old, and eventually die – such was the way with mortals, and not even Tenseiga could prevent it – but he had never before seen the full implications of it.

One day, she would die.

One day he would return, and she would not be here, waiting for him.

He deliberately flattened his hand on her soft, vulnerable stomach, and leaned over to wake her from her sleep.

* * *

"Sesshoumaru-sama," she asked one day, echoing an old, old question, "will you remember me when I die?"

They relaxed before the fire, Sesshoumaru lying with his head in her lap, she running her gnarled fingers smoothly through his long, white hair.

The last time she had asked, she had been a child, satisfied with a child's answers. Now, she was a woman, and the question encompassed so much more. No one else knew of her existence – save Jaken, who would not talk – and she would leave no children, no family, to speak her name and remember her when she was gone.

No one save him.

He would carry her memory with him always, into the uncounted centuries that stretched, endless, ahead of him. He would never be able to forget her – she would stay with him, child, girl, and woman, with almost painful clarity for the rest of life.

"Yes," he said.

He could not see it, but he knew she smiled. Not the bright, joyous smile of her youth, but an old, tired, wise smile, as much filled with happiness as pain. Such was the insight of age, that he, centuries older than she, had still yet to attain.

He would remain seemingly young and beautiful forever. But sometime in the next winter or two, she would die.

* * *

He stayed until the end, caring for her as she had always cared for him, forcing himself to witness the end of her life, granting her his protection and care for the very last time. It was hard to believe that this old, withered, shrunken shell was his Rin, who had once been a laughing, dancing, chattering whirlwind – only the eyes were the same, the young-old eyes; even his scent had been obscured by the pressing, rank smell of her coming death.

He could not defend her from Death a second time.

At the very end, as he watched her eyes start to dim, she lifted her hand slowly, painfully, and laid it, light and fragile as the butterflies she had so loved, on his cheek.

She smiled at him, one last time.

And then she was gone.

He stayed there, kneeling by the bedside for a time, holding her hand to his cheek as if he could hold her to him again, but eventually the flesh cooled, and stiffened, and he knew, finally, incontrovertibly, that she was dead, and he was alone.

He stood up, arranging her hands on the furs – wolf furs that he had provided, because she feared them so – and deliberately, perhaps even ceremoniously, set fire to the small cottage in the woods, the cottage he had given her and in which she had lived so many of her years. He stood and watched, as he had watched her death, until the very last remnants of it crumbled to ash.

* * *

Centuries later, wandering his lands, changed as they were from the days when he had first roamed them with his father, so very long ago, he came across what had once been a secluded little valley. Now, of course, it was a housing estate, and the humans had cleared the woods and covered the ground in concrete and bitumen.

But if he looked with the eye of his memory, he could see it as it had once been – a green wood, filled and overshadowed with his power and protection, and a small wooden cottage, with a dark eyed woman standing at the well, smiling at him as he came into sight...

* * *


	3. Whispers

A/N – I'm not quite sure what this is. However, I thought it interesting.

Disclaimer – I don't own Rin, or Sesshoumaru, or anything else Inuyasha-related. I will replace these characters in good condition once I'm finished playing with them.

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**Whispers**

* * *

"_Once,"_ the old woman whispered, her voice paper-thin as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, _"I slept safely, sheltered by white and crimson chrysanthemums."_

The flickering firelight played mercilessly over her face, illuminating the lines of a long, harsh life; the sunken mouth, the clouded, rheumy eyes, and the twisted, crooked signs of an old, terrible injury. Her children, grown and with young grandchildren of their own now, murmured uneasily and hushed her, their eyes narrowed and darting with fear. It did not do, in these terrible times, to speak of white and crimson, or of chrysanthemums, or of anything that recalled the time _before_.

_Before_, these lands had been ruled by a terrible demon, murderous and amoral, who cared nothing for his subjects but spent his whole life in the pursuit of strength and power. Then a great hero, a great human warrior,overthrew the demon and freed the land from tyranny, assuming the role of protector and benevolent guardian. The new lord took a personal interest in his subjects: he kept track of every single one of them, guards were posted in the villages to ensure safety and order, and if his clerks and accountants were zealous in their tax collecting, it was only so that all may share in the wealth. Rabble-rousers and outlaws seeking to overset the natural order were dealt with swiftly and discreetly, so that law-abiding, obedient citizens were not troubled by their lies.

Life was good, now. Everyone said so.

Everyone except the old woman, who mumbled crazy, disjointed nonsense about talking frogs, and cowardly dragons, and swords that could not kill. Her senile ravings were largely harmless, but every now and then, her eyes would clear and sharpen, and she would rock back and forth as she clutched herself and shivered, whispering impossible, treasonous tales of _before._

_Once, _she would whisper, and her sons would try to shush her, _Sesshoumaru-sama cast a great, protective shadow… _

Sesshoumaru. It was death, to read, write or even _whisper _that forbidden name. All records of it had been erased, all memories of it purged. But the old woman, quavering and crooning, spoke it with love, reverence, and pure, childlike faith.

She was mad, of course. She'd been mad for years, ever since she'd stumbled into the village as a girl, weeping hysterically, filthy, barefoot, her hair tangled and matted with blood. She would not speak, but clutched a torn, ragged white, crimson stained haori as if it were the last hope of safety on earth. The village elders accepted her, so the story went, on the condition that she relinquished the haori and kept silent about her past –

But that had been fifty years ago and more.

* * *

The old woman knew what they were thinking. She could see it in their eyes, in the set and posture of their unease. _Shut her up,_ they hissed fiercely. _Shut her up before she kills us all…_

But she had been silent for fifty years. After Sesshoumaru-sama's death, after his murderer had seized power, she had run, hiding herself in a small, peasant village – what could she do, a single human girl, against the man who slew the Great Lord of the West?

She should have done _something. _Sesshoumaru-sama had despised cowardice even more than he had weakness. Now that she was old and frail, on the brink of death, she could appreciate the difference between the two –

Young, frightened, unwilling to face the world without Sesshoumaru-sama's protection, she had been a coward, and she had left it almost too late to find courage. Her children, farmers and peasants, were afraid of their own shadows. They would rather close their ears and their minds than listen to the forbidden truth –

But surely she was only a mad old woman, raving and mumbling in her senility.

"_Once," _she said, quite deliberately, _"there was a lord, with power over life and death…"_

Most of them turned away.

But every now and then, she caught an answering dream in her listeners' eyes…

* * *


	4. Unfamiliar Waters

A/N – A modern day AU. NOTE - Ifanyone recognizes this, I posted it in January under my alternate pseudonym Athelgar.

Just a quick note: this is based on Laurell K Hamilton's basic premise, that vampires/werewolves/necromancers etc are legal, tax-paying, (relatively) law-abiding US citizens. I've decided to see what I could do with legalized youkai in Japan.

Disclaimer – I don't own Inuyasha. Don't sue.

**

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**

**Unfamiliar Waters**

* * *

Tanaka Toshiyo, a minor, unimportant inuyoukai, stared in awe at the figure seated calmly on the hillside. Dressed in traditional clothing, in crimson and white as he had done for centuries, his sword – Tenseiga itself! – sheathed by his side, he was like a picture of old Japan come to life. Long, white hair drifted on the slight breeze, but everything else about the great taiyoukai of the West was utterly still – it was as if the very air about him was frozen in time. He was meditating, eyes closed in contemplation, but when Toshiyo took a step closer, he spoke –

"You represent the human investigator?"

His voice was deep, flat, and hypnotic. "H-hai, Sesshoumaru-sama," Toshiyo managed to blurt out. "We are partners; I handle the youkai business, and he handles the human side."

"Hnn." Sesshoumaru-sama's eyes were still closed, his face still utterly impassive. "Report."

Bowing reflexively, awed by the pure, unadulterated youkai power resonating from the taiyoukai, Toshiyo began his report.

Sesshoumaru listened, easily controlling an impulse towards frustrated worry and anger. In these times, there was very little that could penetrate his calm and elicit an emotional response from him, but Rin had always been able to affect him. Especially now, in her absence; she'd been gone for three months, and he'd had no word of her – he had no way of knowing whether she was alive or dead, thriving or living once more on the streets from where he had rescued her.

His network of vassals and informants had scoured Japan from top to bottom with no luck; that meant she was dead, or in one of the two places in Japan where youkai could not go.

Even now, sixty years after the bomb, no youkai, whether high or low, could set foot in Hiroshima or Nagasaki. It was infuriating to have to rely on human intervention to find her, but Sesshoumaru would go to very great lengths for his Rin.

As he'd suspected, Tanaka's partner, the human investigator, had trailed Rin to Hiroshima, where she had hitch hiked after leaving the protection of his mansion. He did not listen to the rest of the report, but spared a silent moment for relief –

When Tanaka had finished, Sesshoumaru opened his eyes and turned his head to face him. Cognisant of the immense favour inherent in this, the inuyoukai bowed deeply, not meeting his eyes.

"You will watch her constantly, Tanaka," he said flatly.

"Hai, Sesshoumaru-sama!" Tanaka all but shouted, bowing so low his head was flat on the ground.

"You will report to me every week. Tell me what she is doing, where she is going, with whom she is meeting, and anything else that may be of interest."

"Hai, Sesshoumaru-sama!"

"And if any harm comes to her, no matter what the cause, I will kill you, your partner, and every single one of your employees."

"H-hai, Sesshoumaru-sama!"

"Go. Jaken will give you your payment." And with that, he closed his eyes and turned back to his meditation.

"Arigatou gozaimashita, Sesshoumaru-sama!"

Tanaka got up warily, his eyes half-terrified, and all but ran back to the old, traditional house where the crotchety, evil-tempered retainer was waiting with his payment. He snatched at it and took off as quickly as he could, putting as much distance as possible between himself and his terrifying liege lord.

* * *

Yamazuki Sango stared at the girl who had come enquiring about the room to let.

She had the pale, traditional beauty that had gone out of fashion years ago – she spoke formally, in a low, sweet voice, displayed exquisite manners, and kept her eyes discreetly lowered.

Sango wanted to hate her. But there was something so _innocent _about her, in the way she looked at the city around her as if she'd never seen anything like it before.

"So," Sango said awkwardly, "if you don't mind my asking, why do you want to share a flat? I mean, you're obviously from money…" she trailed off, wincing at her own rudeness.

But for the first time, the girl raised her eyes to Sango's. They were deep, dark, and opaque; Sango couldn't read anything in them, and she began to suspect that this girl was much more than what she seemed.

"I was raised by a very rich, very powerful protector," she said in that sweet voice. "I wanted for nothing. But I could not live like that forever. I needed to make my own life…"

"By living with two other girls in a run-down flat."

A small, half-bitter smile. Sango wondered what lay behind it. But it was the girl's next words that truly caught her attention. "Yes. A run-down flat in Hiroshima."

* * *

Takahashi Rin – as she had chosen to call herself – watched the older woman's face change as she realized the implications of her last statement. Hiroshima and Nagasaki were the only two places in Japan that were guaranteed safe havens from youkai – more than forty percent of their populations were made up of people who would prefer to avoid supernatural notice.

"A very rich, very powerful protector?" the older woman – Sango – asked sharply. "Who?"

Rin looked at Sango, at the black leather and the high, practical hairstyle, and at the fierce, protective look in her eyes. "Sango-san," she said cautiously, "you are an executioner. I would not wish any harm to come to him…"

"But you still felt the need to run away."

"No!" Rin was shocked. She had not meant her words to be interpreted in that way. "No, it was not like that. I loved him. He was like a father to me. But I could not stay in his world any longer. It was too stifling."

Sango stared suspiciously for a long while, before sighing. "Did you know I was an executioner when you called me and asked to meet?"

Rin smiled. "No. It was a shock, though." And an even greater shock, when she thought Sango would go after Sesshoumaru-sama…

"Huh." Finally, Sango seemed to come to a decision. "Can you cook?"

"I can, but not very well."

Another sharp look. Rin wondered why Sango seemed to be irritated by her courtesy.

"Then if you can pay your rent, and do all your own shopping, laundry and cooking – we'd be happy to have you."

Rin bowed deeply and murmured her thanks.

Sango shifted her feet and looked uncomfortable.

* * *

The next day, Rin put her small bag down on her new bed, and looked around at her new home. It was a small flat, with three very small bedrooms, one tiny bathroom, and a very brief kitchen – but Rin remembered her life on the street, years ago, before Sesshoumaru-sama took her in. Then, she had been grateful if she could any shelter – she would not complain about cramped space and cluttered bathrooms now.

She wondered how Sesshoumaru-sama was faring without her. Was he worried about her? Had he followed her tracks to Hiroshima yet? Was he lonely, without her to talk to, and brush his hair in the evenings, and play to him while he worked?

She missed him terribly. She missed his cool, calm indifference and the sense of his immense power and strength. She missed his long, drifting white hair and the cool brush of his heavy, silken robes. Most of all, she missed his voice, deep and flat, as they spoke in the evenings when he sat on the hillside and meditated. There, as they watched the sun go down and the first fireflies emerge, he would speak to her on many topics, forming her young mind into something worthy of his time and attention…

It had taken all the courage she had to bring herself to the point of leaving him, running away from his protection, from the archaic, secluded estate where she had lived for thirteen of her nineteen years. But she'd known that if she didn't leave, she would spend her whole life within his all-pervasive influence, Sesshoumaru-sama's little human girl, always adoring, always by his side.

Not, of course, that she didn't adore him, even now, but knew that she had to live her own life.

* * *


	5. The Maiden and the Unicorn

A/N – In 'Predator', I made a reference the myth/story of the Maiden and the Unicorn. Inspiration bit.

Disclaimer – I don't own Sesshoumaru or Rin. Don't sue me.

* * *

**The Maiden and the Unicorn**

* * *

At seventeen, she was still barefoot and ragged, her hair tangled and dusty. She had no courtly graces, no ladylike modesty; Sesshoumaru had no use for such things. She could not play or sing, or manage a household, or read or write anything more than was strictly necessary.

But her windblown skin glowed with health, her eyes bright, keen and joyful. She moved through the wild with perfect confidence, familiar with every plant and herb, every bird and animal. She could track, stalk and kill with perfect practicality –

Sesshoumaru's child, more youkai than human, free of fear, shame and restraint.

* * *

He watched over her, his feral child, wild and free, undisciplined, untaught, unshaped. She smelt of rain, earth, and _him, _her eyes dark with ancient knowledge and timeless innocence.

_Sesshoumaru-sama, _she whispered, greedy in her primitive faith, demanding in her acceptance of his dominance. She asked nothing, but he gave her everything, laying his strength and power at her feet, resting his head in her lap as she crooned, running her hands through his white, white hair.

He gave her life, once. He offered her death, now – _only say the word, _he whispered. _I will kill every wolf in Japan._

* * *

The world did not approve of them.

_Human-lover, _the youkai whispered. _Youkai-whore, _the humans snarled. It was a perfect excuse, an unholy alliance.

The hunters sprang out, surprising the enchanted tableau. They tried to tear him to bloody shreds, take his power for their own, but she threw herself across him, shielding him with her weak, puny strength –

They struck her down, rousing his lulled, subdued instincts. He turned on them, fierce and elemental, all traces of civilization erased as he thrashed against their spears, snapped at their bonds, raging, snarling, fighting with mindless ferocity.

But it was not enough.

* * *

Centuries later, there was a tale of a maiden who entrapped a wondrous beast, leading him into temptation with her beauty, her innocence, and her sex.

The tale's emphasis lay not in the hunters, or their motives for such unscrupulous murder. The maiden's willingness - or lack thereof - was never revealed, nor her fate afterwards, when her part was played –

The focus, the fascination, lay with the unicorn's vulnerability to her allure, his tragic compulsion to place his head, all-trusting, in her lap, to surrender himself and all his defences to her touch.

History is, after all, written by the victors.

* * *


	6. Endurance

A/N – This was first posted under Athelgar, my alternate pseudonym, in November last year. It focuses more on Sesshoumaru than Sess-Rin, but still, she has a profound effect on him. Given my current lack of any real inspiration, I hauled it out and dusted it off.

Disclaimer – I don't own any of the canon characters or situations. I'm making no profit from this. Don't sue.

ooooo

**Endurance**

ooooo

_Time passed._

_The little girl died._

ooooo

He stood outside time, a fixed, unmoving point in the midst of a frenetic, rushing sea of humanity. They surrounded him, frantically living their firefly lives, filled with the knowledge that one day they _will_ die –

He was Sesshoumaru of the West. He dealt both death and life with his one, impartial hand, but he had never truly understood the certainty, the inevitability of mortal death until Rin grew up, grew old, and died.

He'd thought he could keep her by him forever, but for all her wild spirit, for all her fierce vitality, Rin had always known that there were some limitations of the flesh that could not be denied.

She had accepted them, in the end. And there had been nothing – absolutely nothing – which he could have done to prevent it. Through her death, Sesshoumaru, in his turn, had become aware of limitations of his own…

ooooo

_The humans united, and the youkai faded._

ooooo

The search for the Shikon no Tama had seen the death of a huge percentage of Japan's youkai. As the power and influence of the demons faded, the humans grew stronger and more daring, even to the point of taking land that youkai had once claimed as their own. In time, a leader arose and brought all the warring, divided states of Japan under his rule – after that, Sesshoumaru knew that the centuries of youkai supremacy had ended.

Soon only memories, old legends, and myths remained.

ooooo

_But Sesshoumaru endured._

ooooo

He stood in what had once been the entry hall of his father's stronghold – _his_ stronghold now, he supposed, but Sesshoumaru had never cared for such things.

Six hundred years ago, he'd walked out, swearing never to return – but such melodrama seemed foolish now, in the face of inevitable, unrelenting time. In his memory, this place was powerful and imposing, infused with the scent and presence of his father – now, instead of graceful, powerful stone and wood, there was nothing but an empty hillside and the ruined remnants of a powerful taiyoukai's barrier.

It was, he supposed, a profound sight, this empty nothingness, filled with ghosts of a past long dead to all but him and a few others.

But Sesshoumaru was not much given to melodrama, not anymore.

He closed his eyes, once, a last, foolish farewell to something long since gone, and then turned and walked away.

ooooo

_Behind him, the world resumed its normal pace._

ooooo

FIN


	7. Chapter 7

A/N - Written for Rikkitsune on LJ.

Disclaimer - I don't own any of the characters, settings or situations in Inuyasha. This fic is for enjoyment purposes only, and no money was made in the writing of it.

* * *

Sesshoumaru-sama's hair was ruined, and it was all Rin's fault.

Trailing along behind him, her feet dragging in the dust, she could not stop looking at the shaggy, disordered remnant of his glorious white hair. For the fifth time since the incident, she broke into noisy, wailing sobs.

"Sesshoumaru-sama, Rin is sorry! It was all Rin's fault!" She sat down in the middle of the road and bawled.

"Rin."

Through her heart-broken sobs, she saw him turn to face her, heard his calm, flat voice, strained a little around the edges as it only got when he was pushed beyond endurance. Convinced, now, that she had gone far beyond what he would tolerate, she became frantic.

"Rin!"

She ignored him.

Finally, he paced slowly back to her, knelt beside her in the rutted, dusty road, and gazed at her. Fascinated, as she always was, by his calm, golden eyes, she slowly calmed, her frantic sobs subsiding into hiccups and gulping wheezing.

"Stop crying, Rin," he said, his clawed hand tipping up her chin and brushing away her tears. "It will grow back…"

_

* * *

_

_It all started so innocently, as so many of her misadventures and accidents did. Travelling in Sesshoumaru-sama's wake, she saw a field of beautiful pale blue flowers, ran gleefully into the midst of them, giggling as she collected great armfuls to bestow upon Ah-Un, and Jaken-sama, and even Sesshoumaru-sama._

_But they made Ah and Un shiver and squeal, stamping their feet nervously and sidling away as she tried to loop a thick wreath around their necks. Sesshoumaru-sama, alerted, turned quickly to view the twin dragons' reactions – and then he tore the overflowing mass of flowers from her hands and threw it to the ground, spraying it with his acrid green venom. _

_She stared blankly at him, at the rotted, melting mess he'd made of her gift, and burst into tears. _

_Jaken-sama jumped up, squawking indignantly, railing at her for being so foolish as to bring pollen parasites into their camp. Ah and Un nudged her with their snouts, showing their sympathy, but even they made sure to keep away from the flowers. _

_But it was too late – stirred up by her gleeful plucking, by Sesshoumaru-sama's vicious venom and by the spreading power of his youki, the field started to vibrate and hum, the flowers massing together, coalescing into a great blue blur. _

_Jaken-sama's eyes bulged and he threw himself at Sesshoumaru-sama, clutching his leg and gabbling in mindless panic. Rin, dismayed and horrified, froze in place as the menacing blur rose up into the sky and bore down upon them –_

_Sesshoumaru-sama grabbed her by the neck of her kimono and took to the air, pulling her arms around his neck, trying to free his arm so that he could reach Tenseiga's hilt. Jaken-sama squawked, his little webbed hands white-knuckled as he fought to hold on, his panicked prayers rising to a wailing scream. The blue wave overwhelmed them, and Rin screamed, burying her face in Sesshoumaru-sama's neck – _

_There was a great implosion of sound, and an arc of brilliant light split open the sky as Sesshoumaru-sama summoned the Meidou. The flower monsters howled and roared as they were sucked into the opening, dragged into the black, freezing depths of hell…_

_The blue mass grew smaller and smaller, the roaring and howling diminishing until eventually there was nothing left, only the narrowing circle of light and darkness that finally winked out, leaving nothing but blue sky._

_Calmly, Sesshoumaru-sama floated back to the ground, kicking Jaken-sama off his leg and detaching Rin's arms, lowering her down until she could stand on her own. Ah and Un, who had taken to the air themselves, slowly resumed their normal place and settled back into an uneasy doze. _

_But when Sesshoumaru-sama shook out his clothing, restoring them to immaculate falls and folds, he reached up to throw his hair back into its normal, perfect fall – _

_Only to find it reduced from waist-length to shoulder-length, ragged, blackened, and burned…_

* * *

For the rest of that day, Rin watched Sesshoumaru-sama's hair, willing it to grow back, silently making bargains with the gods, promising that she would never pick flowers again, that she would even be kinder to Jaken-sama, if only Sesshoumaru-sama's glorious beauty could be restored.

Slowly, so very slowly, his white hair lengthened. It was not something that she could see with her poor human vision, but she found that if she snuck looks at it every now and then, it would be a little bit longer every time. Drawing in a greatly relieved breath, she finally began to believe that it would all be better.

Shyly, she worked her way up behind him, tucking her hand into the thick fur tossed over his shoulder. "Sesshoumaru-sama's hair has grown back," she said brightly, her face upturned as she gazed up, up, all the way into his golden eyes.

"Hrn," he said in return, looking away from her, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest and fields. "Be more careful next time." But his clawed, poisonous hand came to rest, just for a moment, and with the utmost delicacy, on her hair.

Rin broke into happy, delighted smiles, and tucked her small, chubby hand into his.


	8. The End of Innocence

A/N – Sesshoumaru is forced to confront the truth.

Disclaimer – I don't own Inuyasha, any of the canon characters, settings or situations. Don't sue.

* * *

The End of Innocence

* * *

The first time Rin bled, Sesshoumaru knew that everything had changed.

Peasant girl, farmer's daughter, she was resigned to the changes in her body. There had been no privacy in the village, no room for modesty or inhibitions; it was Sesshoumaru, castle-born aristocrat, who was appalled at the thought that she was now considered old enough to bear children.

Her nose was slightly crooked. He could remember the day she fell, tumbling, out of a too-slippery tree and knocked her head on a small branch. There was a scar on her knee, and scratches and bruises on her hands and legs, legacy of an active, curious life in the wild.

She was a child. A wild, untamed, chattering child.

But she would not be a child forever.

* * *


	9. Hypocrisy

**A/N** – Implications of underage sex.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Sesshoumaru, Rin, or anything Inuyasha. Don't sue.

* * *

**Hypocrisy**

* * *

Sesshoumaru cares nothing for hypocrisy.

His reckless, passionate _hanyou_ child will never be strong enough to hold the West. But Sesshoumaru has done his duty; he has an heir already, powerful, vicious and, most important, full-blooded. He has had his fill of cruel, capricious youkai women, their skin white as snow and their eyes calculating and ambitious. Rin is fierce and earthy, his barefoot, sun-warmed child; her eyes are dark with mortality, and when she tangles herself around him, she burns like fire.

She came to full flower during a hot, dusty summer, sweat trickling down her golden-brown skin, her thick black hair tangled and windblown. She was a creature of the flesh, wholly earth-bound, greedy and unrestrained in her loves, her hates, her desires.

When he tumbled her down on the bank of a cool-flowing stream, she dragged her nails down his back, drawing blood – she tangled her hands in his hair, drew him greedily down and claimed him, all the love and trust in the world in her fierce, insistent whispering. _Mine, _she whispered as he rose above her, his eyes bleeding red and his claws digging into the earth by her sides. _Mine, _she whispered as he collapsed onto her, his breathing hoarse and ragged, sweat dripping from him, sealing them together while the cicadas sang and droned all around them.

_Mine, _she crooned to the tiny, sleepy bundle she held to her breast.

And Sesshoumaru will never deny her.


	10. Ordinary World

**A/N – **"I am not her, Sesshoumaru-sama. I cannot be what she was to you." A Reincarnated!Rin fic.  
**Disclaimer** – I don't own Inuyasha, any of the canon characters, settings or situations. No money was made in the making of this fic.

* * *

**Ordinary World**

* * *

It was very late.

Shivering, she thrust her hands deeper into her pockets, huddling into her jacket. She walked with her eyes and ears wide open, searching for anything unusual or out of place; old habits die hard, and a childhood spent living hand-to-mouth on the streets had left its mark.

That desperate, feral girl is gone, she told herself grimly. She'd escaped her past and made a new life, but some part of her had always known that she could not run forever. As she hurried up the steps to her apartment block she could feel her instincts prickling, and it made her fingers clumsy as she fumbled with her keys at her door.

When she finally closed her apartment door behind her she sighed, feeling herself relax at last, and tossed her bag and keys on the coffee table –

And then she felt the electrifying thrill of his presence.

The lights were out, but the reflection from the countless neon lights and signs outside was enough to provide dim illumination. In the half-darkness she saw a pale glimmering figure unfold, ghostly white and blood-dark crimson, and she stared at him, her breath caught in her throat.

"Sesshoumaru-sama," she whispered.

He stood up, his hair and robes glimmering. "You should not be out so late." And he drew closer, moving with that ancient, unearthly grace. "Rin."

She stood very still as he approached, her heart hammering – with nervousness? anticipation? – so loudly she knew that he could hear it. When he was close enough to reach out and touch, he stopped, bent down to her, and drew in her scent.

"You smell of another man," he whispered, his breath hot in her ear.

* * *

When she was young, she would sit with him in the evenings, curled up in his lap, tangling his silken white hair with her own. She would breathe in his rich, musky scent, knowing that it was rubbing off on her, marking her as his. It had made her feel safe, then, and loved; she had half imagined that she marked him as well, her own scent rubbing off on him.

As she grew older, the scent-marking became less innocent. They had twined around each other possessively, mouthing, licking, biting; she had scratched her fingers down his back, often drawing blood.

But it had been ten years since she'd walked away from him, scrubbing every inch of her body until she was sure she'd washed away his possession. She smelled of perfume, now, of scented soap and shampoos, of man-made clothes and human sweat –

And, yes, of another man.

* * *

"My fiancé," she said, as steadily as she could. "We are going to be married."

His eyes darkened, the only outward sign of his reaction. She had once memorised every nuance of his expression and body language; she recognised his displeasure, had to stop herself from trying to appease him.

"And where is he?" Sesshoumaru asked. "This _fiancé _of yours. Should he not be by your side, keeping you from harm?"

"The only danger I face at the moment is you, Sesshoumaru-sama," she retorted.

He flinched.

* * *

She had trusted him with the wary innocence of a feral street-rat. It had been weeks before she stopped waking at the slightest sound, and months before she would allow herself to curl up beside him and relax. He had waited her out with inhuman patience, until eventually she had given him her entire heart and soul.

He had told her that she could do whatever she wished, but when she'd tried to leave he'd tried to stop her. He'd slammed his fist into the door, slamming it shut before she could haul it open, and his acid-green poison had leaked from his claws, corroding the thick lacquered wood. She'd seen possessive violence in his eyes, directed at her –

And then as she watched, terrified, he reined it in.

Withdrew.

And allowed her to flee.

* * *

"I cannot be what she was to you," Rin said tiredly. "I am not her."

"I know, Rin. I told you, long ago – I do not wish you to be her."

"Sesshoumaru-sama." Reaching out to him, she took his hand in hers, lifted it to her cheek. It was an unthinkable intimacy, born of their long history and the remnants of what they had once had. "But you still saw _her _when you looked at me. Jun – my fiancé – sees _me._"

And with that simple, harsh truth, she knew that she had won.

He untangled his hand from hers and stepped away. She closed her eyes, drew in a long, shuddering breath. When she opened them again, he was gone.

* * *

When Jun returned home more than an hour later, she greeted him with a warm smile and a kiss. His hair was short and mussed, not silken white, and he smelled of cotton shirts and aftershave, not ozone and musk. He was entirely human, completely ordinary, and he knew nothing of youkai or her childhood or whoever she may have been in her past life.

But he loved her, and she him.

And that was enough.

* * *

FIN


	11. Impossible

**Impossible  
****Summary:** Sesshoumaru dreams impossible dreams.  
**A/N:** Another 100 word drabble.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inuyasha, any of the canon characters, settings or situations.

* * *

In his dreams he sees her, hazed with golden sunlight: playing with a babe in a field of riotous flowers, twigs and petals caught in her hair. The child's nose twitches as he catches Sesshoumaru's scent, and he toddles forward to embrace him; the woman approaches, her eyes dark and welcoming, holding out work-roughened hands. Sesshoumaru buries his face in the junction of her shoulder, drawing her earthy, warm scent deep into his lungs.

In his dreams she laughs, low and throaty, and arches her neck for him –

But such dreams are impossible, and so he orders himself to wake.


End file.
